It’s one of those things people don’t really say out loud, but you can feel it in their eyes, their tone, the way they ask certain questions.
“You’ll change your mind one day.”
“Won’t you regret it later?”
“Who will take care of you when you’re older?”
I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve heard these lines—or some version of them. I’m a woman in my 30s who’s chosen a life of passports and plane tickets over diapers and daycare.
And while I’m not here to knock anyone else’s choices, I can tell you that society has a lot to say when a woman decides she doesn’t want to have kids, especially if she’s trading in that so-called “biological clock” for a boarding pass.
The thing is, this isn’t some rebellious phase or a decision I made lightly. It’s not about avoiding responsibility or being afraid of settling down. It’s about carving out the kind of life that feels true to me.
Still, that hasn’t stopped the judgment from creeping in—from friends, family, strangers at dinner parties who think they know better.
But here’s the part no one really talks about: how much pressure there is to follow a path you never asked for, and how freeing (and terrifying) it can be to walk away from it entirely.
1) I’m not “missing out,” I’m choosing differently
One of the first things people assume when you say you don’t want kids is that you’re missing out on life.
They talk about the joy of parenting, the unconditional love, the magical moments you’ll supposedly never understand without a little one calling you “mom.”
But here’s the thing—choosing not to have kids doesn’t mean my life is empty or incomplete. It just means it’s full in a different way.
For me, those magical moments come when I’m watching the sun rise over a new city, sharing stories with strangers who become lifelong friends, or standing in awe of landscapes that make me feel small in the best way possible.
I’m not sacrificing one type of fulfillment for another—I’m pursuing the version of life that makes sense for me. It looks different from what society might expect, but it’s no less meaningful.
2) I refuse to live my life based on fear
One thing I hear a lot is, “Aren’t you afraid you’ll regret it later?”
It’s a question that used to get under my skin because, honestly, I’ve asked myself the same thing before. There was a time when I worried about what my future would look like without children—whether I’d feel lonely or out of place as the years went on.
But then I realized something: making a life choice based on fear isn’t really living.
If I had let fear take the wheel, I never would have taken that solo trip to South America where I got lost in the streets of Bogotá and ended up finding the most incredible little café that felt like a second home.
I never would have gone scuba diving in Indonesia despite being terrified of deep water, or trusted myself to book a one-way ticket with no plan beyond trusting my instincts.
Those moments weren’t just about adventure—they were about proving to myself that I could handle whatever came my way. And if I can do that halfway across the world, why should I let fear dictate how I build my life at home?
3) I believe happiness isn’t one-size-fits-all
There’s a quote by Eleanor Roosevelt that has always stuck with me: “Happiness is not a goal; it is a by-product of a life well-lived.”
For the longest time, I thought happiness was something you were supposed to find by following a specific formula—graduate, get a good job, settle down, have kids. But somewhere along the way, I realized that formula wasn’t written for me.
For me, happiness looks a little different. It’s the feeling of standing on the edge of the Cliffs of Moher with the wind in my hair and the smell of the sea all around me. It’s trying—and failing—to learn how to say “thank you” in five different languages during one week in Europe.
It’s waking up at 4 a.m. to catch a train to a city I’ve never been to before, not knowing what I’ll find but knowing it’ll be worth it.
What society doesn’t always seem to understand is that there isn’t one universal blueprint for happiness. Parenting might be someone else’s version of a life well-lived, and that’s beautiful.
But for me, it’s about exploration, connection, and building memories in corners of the world I never imagined I’d see. That doesn’t make my happiness any less real—it just makes it mine.
4) I know that freedom is a form of responsibility
In Bhutan, there’s a concept called “Gross National Happiness.” Instead of measuring progress by wealth or material success, they evaluate it based on well-being and fulfillment.
When I learned about this on a trip there, it made me think about how we measure success in our own lives—and how often freedom and fulfillment are left out of the equation.
The freedom to travel, to live on my own terms, to prioritize experiences over expectations—it’s not some carefree escape from responsibility. It’s a responsibility in itself. I have to consciously choose what fulfills me, what aligns with my values, and how I spend my time and energy.
Freedom isn’t just about doing what you want; it’s about knowing what you want and being brave enough to pursue it, even when it doesn’t fit the mold.
For me, that means charting a course that feels authentic—whether it’s hiking through the Himalayas or having deep conversations with strangers on a train in Eastern Europe. This kind of freedom requires mindfulness and intention, and that’s not something I take lightly.
5) I’ve learned to let go of other people’s expectations
There was a time when I felt like I had to defend my choices constantly. Every family gathering, every casual conversation with someone new, it felt like I was being put on trial.
People would ask why I wasn’t “settling down” yet or tell me, with a mix of pity and certainty, that I’d regret not having kids someday. For the longest time, their words stuck to me like glue, and I carried them around everywhere I went.
But the truth is, living your life to meet other people’s expectations only guarantees one thing: you won’t be living it for yourself. I had to learn that just because someone else thinks they know what’s best for me doesn’t make it true. Their expectations are just that—theirs.
The more I let go of that weight, the lighter I started to feel. Now when someone gives me that familiar look of disbelief when I talk about my lifestyle, I just smile.
Let them think what they want. Meanwhile, I’ll be busy booking my next trip and chasing after the life that feels right for me—not for anyone else.
6) I’ve found family in unexpected places
One of the arguments I hear most often is that by not having kids, I’m missing out on the chance to build a family. But what people don’t always see is that family isn’t just something you’re born into or create in the traditional sense—it’s something you can find along the way.
I’ll never forget the night I got stranded in a tiny village in northern Vietnam after missing the last bus.
A local woman who barely spoke any English invited me into her home. She made me dinner, introduced me to her children, and insisted I stay the night. By the time I left the next morning, it felt like I was leaving behind an old friend.
Or the group of fellow travelers I met on a ferry in Greece, who turned a random encounter into a weeklong adventure filled with laughter, shared meals, and conversations that lingered long after we all went our separate ways.
These connections remind me that family doesn’t always look like what society says it should. Sometimes it’s the people who show you kindness when you least expect it or those who make you feel at home no matter where you are in the world.
For me, that’s more than enough.
7) I measure time in moments, not milestones
There’s a certain rhythm to life that society expects us to follow—graduate by this age, marry by that age, have kids by the next. It’s like a checklist, and every time you miss an item, people start to wonder what’s wrong with you.
But for me, life isn’t about ticking off milestones; it’s about collecting moments.
Like watching the northern lights dance across the Icelandic sky and feeling like the universe was putting on a show just for me. Or wandering through the streets of Kyoto during cherry blossom season, completely losing track of time as petals fell around me like snow.
I know those moments don’t show up on anyone’s timeline or fit neatly into a scrapbook labeled “life achievements,” but they’ve shaped me in ways I can’t fully explain.
They’ve taught me to live in the present, to appreciate beauty in small things, and to embrace the unpredictable twists that come with not following a set path.
Time isn’t something I measure by what I’ve “accomplished” in society’s eyes—it’s something I fill with experiences that make me feel alive.
8) I know my worth isn’t tied to motherhood
There’s an unspoken narrative that suggests a woman’s ultimate purpose is to become a mother—that her value, her legacy, her very identity are somehow incomplete without it.
I’ve felt the weight of that idea in the way people react when I say I don’t want kids, as if I’m rejecting not just motherhood but some part of my womanhood itself.
But here’s what I’ve come to understand: my worth isn’t defined by whether or not I raise children. It’s in how I live my life, how I treat others, and how I show up for myself and the people who matter to me.
It’s in the courage it takes to make choices that align with who I truly am, even when those choices go against the grain of what society expects.
I’ve built a life that feels rich and meaningful to me. A life full of growth, exploration, and love in its many forms. That may not look like traditional success or fulfillment, but it doesn’t make it any less valid.
My value isn’t something that needs to be justified by a role or title—it simply exists because I do.
The bottom line
Living a life that doesn’t conform to societal expectations takes courage, but it also offers freedom. The path I’ve chosen—filled with exploration, uncertainty, and boundless possibility—has taught me that fulfillment isn’t tied to one definition or role.
As Anaïs Nin once wrote, “Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one’s courage.” For me, choosing to expand my life through experiences, connections, and self-discovery has been the most authentic decision I could make.
It’s not about rejecting one way of living—it’s about embracing the one that feels true. Each of us has the right to define what makes our lives meaningful. What matters most is having the courage to honor that truth, even when it doesn’t align with what others expect.
